


This is not War

by Chasingghxsts



Category: Bombing - Fandom, Death - Fandom, War - Fandom, children - Fandom, conflict - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7815874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chasingghxsts/pseuds/Chasingghxsts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short poem based around the current bombings from a child's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is not War

His faces was torn, eyes wide open in the sense that more was more to come.  
He stood there numb, feet planted on the rubble covered ground, toes curling around the sharp remains of buildings and homes,  
He couldn't think right, thoughts were muted as they stared in only what they could see in front of them, they didn't know what just happened, shock devoured their senses as blood slowly trickled down the dusted, torn skin.  
The place seemed to be silent besides the high pitched whine in his ears that rang on for what felt like days but in reality it was minutes,  
They were lost, clueless, the dust above them choked out any sign of the sky.  
Maybe people were crying, screaming, tearing their lungs apart just for the relieving reply of a loved one,   
Just maybe others were there, but right now the young boy only heard the pitiful silence of his upmost loneliness, the griping feeling that he was alone, lost, marginalised.   
His feet began to move as did his head, reality coming back to him like he was coming out of a dream, or should I say nightmare?  
Stumbles became clumsy scrambling over massive chunks of concrete, whispers became screeches as his head swivelled around the area,   
Panic, Fear, dread, dismay.   
He screamed to himself:  
Mama, Mama, Mama,  
That's right before his bare, teared foot struck something and he flung to the ground.  
He was obviously alone.  
Who would hear his agonising wails when he found his mother crushed under their home?  
Who would watch his face as tears would clean free of the filth that lingered upon his innocent cheeks?  
Who would feel his culminating anguish?   
No one.   
No one will know of how this boy's hands grips the hands of his mother, willing her to wake up,   
No one will know of his torture struck face where a little boy smile was supposed to rest,  
No one will hear of his tormented sobs coming from a mouth that was made to laugh,  
No one will see his look of dismay,  
No one will truly understand the impact this will have on the 7 year old's life.  
This is not war, this is not the route of peace,   
This is the act of hostility between the conflicted race,  
Bombs, Air Strikes, Guns, Machines,   
They don't do anything but ruin the lives of thousands,  
A child shouldn't be a witness to such things as these,   
A child should grip childhood, not war.


End file.
